Edogawa Secret Love Handbook - Chapter 4

After returning home, Conan didn’t forget to relay Qianzi’s message and also gave Ran her phone number.

Even though it was just a smartwatch, it still had a number.

Seeing Ran happily preparing to contact Qianzi, Conan couldn’t help but ask, “Do you really like Qianzi, Ran-neechan?”

“Of course.”

Both of them were good-natured and great at making friends, so it was only natural they got along well.

After answering, Ran suddenly noticed something.

“That’s strange.”

Conan took a bottle of cold drink from the fridge, hoping to calm his mood after the day’s events.

A crisp pop sounded as bubbles rushed upward, fizzing loudly before being gulped down in quick succession.

It was the time when office workers were heading home, and someone’s loud shout seemed to instantly fill the world with noise—the sounds of cars moving, people greeting each other, and children laughing and running around.

Conan stood by the window, drink in hand, feeling the late autumn breeze.

“What’s strange?”

Ran thought carefully. “You always call the other kids by their first names.”

Like Genta, Ayumi, and Mitsuhiko.

But why, when it came to Qianzi, did he use her last name?

And in such a distant way—”Rinrin-san”—not even like how he called Ai “Haibara.”

It was practically the epitome of aloofness.

Yet it didn’t seem like dislike… Ran cautiously probed, “Do you not like Qianzi?”

Conan froze.

Dislike? No, definitely not.

It was rare for anyone to dislike a kid as warm-hearted and adorable as Qianzi.

But the issue of how he addressed her—Conan realized this was the first time he’d even noticed it.

Ran was still worried on Qianzi’s behalf. “If Qianzi realizes she’s being treated differently, she might get hurt.”

Conan sat on the couch, casually placing his drink on the table. “She wouldn’t.”

That airheaded girl wouldn’t notice. And even if she did, she wouldn’t care.

As for why he called her by her last name… Conan thought he probably knew the reason.

In the beginning, Conan hadn’t really wanted to blend in with the elementary school kids or befriend the Detective Boys.

He found them noisy.

The confusion of being shrunk and his fear of the future made him appear calm and collected on the surface, but inside, he was restless.

Looking back now, Conan realized that state of mind would’ve been a problem.

It definitely would have.

He was forced to become friends with Genta and the others, but he still saw it as just humoring little kids.

Back then, to him, Qianzi was just like Mitsuhiko and the rest—a slightly annoying, slightly exasperating brat.

And especially irritating!

She never seemed to understand his rejections, always pestering him to chat, walk home together, or play games.

Conan occasionally indulged her but often half-heartedly—the way adults typically treated children.

He figured she’d lose interest in a few days, or maybe she’d notice his indifference, get bored, disappointed, even angry, and start disliking him. None of that mattered to him.

He wasn’t in the mood to play games with kids every day anyway.

He had his own matters to attend to, though at the time he wasn’t sure which direction he should focus his efforts to find clues about the Black Organization.

Or perhaps his restlessness stemmed precisely from this uncertainty.

The idea was that staying at the detective agency might allow him to uncover leads about the Black Organization through Uncle Kogoro’s cases… but would it really work?

Conan couldn’t be sure.

This continued until the day he lost count of how many times he’d rejected Qianzi.

When he tried to brush her off yet again, Qianzi remained silent for a long while.

She didn’t let him walk away, but neither did she scold him in anger.

The silence grew so heavy that even Conan began to feel guilty.

He looked up to meet her gaze, trying to gauge her mood, only to realize she’d already been watching him before he turned.

“Hurry up and finish your work, okay?” The girl wasn’t angry, which inexplicably made him breathe a quiet sigh of relief.

She seemed unaware of what his constant rejections implied, simply giving him earnest reminders.

“We can play soccer tomorrow too, but when I come find you then, I might not feel as excited as I do today.”

It was rare to see her so quiet, her face unusually devoid of its usual bright smile.

Conan still remembered the sunset that day—unbelievably beautiful, with orange-purple skies and vast stretches of clouds. Scenery he’d been too distracted to appreciate properly at the time, yet which now kept resurfacing in his memories.

Her voice was so light and clear that Conan thought he detected a hint of disappointment in Qianzi’s words.

“Conan always seems so busy,” she said. “Even after today’s work, there’ll probably be more tomorrow.”

“I’ll wait for you… but I don’t know when you’ll have time. Maybe by the time you’re free, after so long, we won’t even be good friends anymore.”

Her sincerity made Conan feel like the worst person in the world for betraying a child’s genuine feelings, softening his heart completely.

Though soon after reforming his ways, he quickly realized how unnecessary his pity had been—both his softened heart and his sympathy for Qianzi’s lonely figure holding the soccer ball!

The little rascal had a line of kids waiting to play soccer with her that could circle the school. Plenty of children wanted to be her friend.

She only sought him out because she thought the other elementary schoolers played poorly.

He was just a plain, ordinary soccer partner.

But knowing this changed nothing. At most, he could pinch the little troublemaker’s cheeks in frustration before being won over again by her sweet smiles and empty promises.

This distant form of address naturally stemmed from his initial attempts to keep Qianzi at arm’s length before they became friends.

Having grown accustomed to it, even Conan didn’t realize how cold the nickname sounded.

But…

Conan took another sip of soda.

Changing it now would feel strange, and Qianzi had never questioned it.

Satisfied that there was no conflict between them, Ran used her phone to contact Qianzi and arrange a meeting time.

She walked toward the bedroom while making the call.

When closing the door, Conan could still hear that sweet voice coming through the phone.

“Ran-neechan~”

Tch.

Conan slammed the soda can heavily onto the table.

Wasn’t he more reliable than Ran?

Chiko talked with Ran for a full hour on the phone, only hanging up when Kogoro Mouri started howling about being hungry on the other end.

“Seems you’ve made friends living alone too.”

The blonde woman who had entered the room unnoticed sat backwards on a chair, cheek resting on one hand as she smiled. “How unexpected.”

If Gin found out about this…

Though Vermouth doubted he’d do anything.

It was strange—this uncharacteristic softness hardly resembled the Gin she knew.

Or perhaps there was some secret about this child even she hadn’t figured out yet.

“My food!” Completely ignoring her, Chiko whooped and pounced on the low tea table on the carpet.

Though she didn’t know what it was, the packaging looked extravagant—it reeked of money!

Vermouth didn’t mind being brushed off, merely chiding with mock reproach: “You ungrateful little thing.”

Yet she watched with amusement as Chiko eagerly tore open the bags.

How adorable—even mealtime brought such vitality. She couldn’t understand why the Boss had insisted on keeping her in the organization.

Staying in the organization too long would sadly turn her into another unpleasant adult.

“Sushi and fried steak!”

And that was just the first box. Chiko opened the second: “Eel rice and… vegetable salad.”

She dragged out the words: “Vermouth knows I hate salads.”

This only delighted Vermouth more, who seemed to enjoy her distress. “Children can’t skip vegetables.”

Fine.

For the sake of her health, Chiko accepted the salad.

There was also a carton of milk—her usual brand.

Thanks to Gin’s continuous training, Chiko’s appetite far exceeded that of ordinary children, though it matched Mitsuhiko’s portions.

“Why’d you come see me again?”

Between bites of fried steak, Chiko asked curiously.

Though Vermouth occasionally dropped by to bother her, she always brought news.

Sometimes good—like when Gin went on business trips, making Vermouth her examiner for the week.

But often bad—like when Amuro couldn’t return, forcing her to buy bento alone, or when she had to get bl00d drawn at headquarters.

“Gin’s mission ended early.”

Chiko mournfully gulped down some milk.

This meant she’d have to go back sooner.

Though she’d grown accustomed to Gin’s scowls, and as a fellow dark-side member he’d never directed killing intent at her since their first meeting, Chiko simply didn’t want to live with him.

Living with Gin meant never sleeping in!

Who’d dare? One second late, and there’d be a gun against her forehead.

Misfires aside—Gin’s weapons rarely had that issue—the metal was just so cold.

But upon reflection, Chiko found it tolerable.

In summer with the AC on, the gun left on the table would stay cool—Gin never kept his coat on indoors during hotter months.

Winter was different though.

Gin kept his gun in his coat’s inner pocket, nice and toasty.